Somebody to Love
by Amarintha
Summary: Humour thing. Separate one shots strung together on a common theme. Y'know how everyone seems to think the boys are gay? This is me, coming up with several scenarios. So far Dean-centric, but I'll mess with Sam, too.
1. Chapter 1

_(by request. Beta'd by my usual, Mish. She's lovely. I took most of your suggestions, see? Then again I tend to do that, or go my own way with them. I needed a laugh. I wrote a really sad bit in my ongoing fic, and needed to crawl out of my emotional black hole. So, you have this. You'll note it says encounter one...meaning more to come. and just in case someone out there is clueless, the title is supposed to be ironic, I suggest googling the lyrics if you don't know the song. Queen, and I've only got it via the Greatest Hits, and I refuse to go and sift thru all my dad's original albums to figure out which one it's from. Anyways, if you loved it, review, please, if you hated it, review please. You wanna see more of these? review please!) _

**Somebody to Love **

**Encounter One: **

Dean pulled up in front of the local high school, feeling a smile of barely contained pride spreading across his face. Sam, surrounded by a group of laughing girls, and boys, had a huge grin on his face. For once, things were almost normal. Dean, to his own shock, along with that of everyone's but Sam's, had graduation one time with almost a 3.0 GPA. Turns out he hadn't done that badly, after all. Some kids caught sight of the Impala and pointed, he saw Sam's face light up, his lips move 'that's my big brother! I gotta go!' he said, before trying to situate all his books as his legs started moving, and Dean was reminded of Wile E. Coyote when his feet started gong and left the rest behind.

Dean managed to get the window open so when Sam tripped on the curb almost all of his books flew into the window. In fact, Dean was already out of the car, halfway around the front and even managed to catch one of the books. He got a few cheers and some of Sam's friends rushed over, helping collect papers, notebooks, a binder, and of course; books. Dean chuckled appreciatively, opening the door to the back seat so Sam could sling his backpack into it, along with dumping everything else, too. The trunk wasn't safe around civilians. Dean slipped into the car, glancing at Sam who worked to arrange his gangly limbs comfortably in the passenger seat.

"Hey," Sam said breathlessly. "You can laugh, y'know," glancing at his brother's reddening face. Dean, at Sam's permission burst out laughing until tears ran down his cheeks, but all the same he hit the gas and the car peeled away from the curb and onto the road.

"So, you want some ice cream?" Dean's thin black t-shirt was starting to stick to his skin, and his hair was dark with sweat. Sam fared no better, but at least he wore baggy cargo shorts.

"Sure, but dude, in case you don't remember? We don't have any money." A proud grin spread across Dean's face as he held up a twenty dollar bill. "Where'd you get that?"

"Told Dad I wanted to get a job, that garage near our apartment was hiring, and he laughed at me," Dean's face clouded slightly, "And he said if I could get the job then I could work all I wanted." Sam knew that Dean wouldn't divulge more without prompting, but saw Dean's need to share.

"So how'd you get twenty bucks in your first few seconds?" Sam asked with a laugh.

"Well, I drove up in the Impala, said she needed the engine belt replaced, and he said that no one was available to work on the car, and I laughed. Said ain't no one touching my baby but me," Dean winked. "Said I'd pay for the use of the tools and stuff, but I'd do it myself. He laughed in my face, said if I could do it, he'd not only let me use the stuff free, he'd hire me, if I wanted the job. We shook on it," Dean grinned, so proud of himself. Sam laughed, knowing that the store manager wouldn't really regret his rash decision, even if it stung. But his heart also ached for Dean. He was never proud of himself because their dad never gave him a reason to be. Looking at Dean's face one last time to memorize the pleasure in his eyes and the proud strength of his smile, he would hold it as a talisman against the hurt emerald eyes and locked jaw, teeth biting through lower lip.

"So, I pop up the hood, already telling them what I need, even remembered to say please," he added, rolling his eyes. "And it doesn't take me long and the job's done. The guy's so shocked his eyes are gonna fall out of his head." Satisfaction played across Dean's face, lifting the corners of his lips in a smile. "So he hires me, and another mechanic, right? This freakin' Audi pulls in, just needs an oil change, and a brake check, they think the fluid might be leaking –it was _so_ the freakin' cleaning fluid, but the mechanic, right? God he almost puts oil in the cleaning fluid without even checking the dipstick, so of course I'm all over it and taking care of it. Earned myself a tip," he grinned. Sam noticed how Dean's fingertips around the nail are black, and there was smudge of grease along his jaw. Rustling around for anything, he found a rag, and recognized his old Superman shirt. So that's where it went?

"Dean, don't move," he said as he leaned forward, wiping the grease off.

"Thanks," Dean mumbled, rubbing at his face, checking for more grease before making a right turn. Pulling up along the curb under a tree, Dean glanced out the window. "Hot out, huh?" he asked. They slipped out of the car, carefully timing the slamming of their doors. "Watcha want, Sammy?" Too grateful for the ice cream Sam let the nickname slide just this once.

"How about some vanilla?" Sam asked. It's a craving he's been having, even if his favorite is strawberry. It's just an open ice cream stand in the middle of a wall. Like a hotdog stand, but…coming out of the brick. Sam glanced down the street, it was a typical old town styled street, cobbled sidewalk, trees every ten feet or so, all sorts of boutique styled stores and used clothes. And a used bookstore! Mort's Old Fashioned Ice Cream is emblazoned on the lower half of the 'wall' just a window that for all purposes might once have been a drive through. As Dean paid for the ice cream, roughly 50 cents a cone –waffle cone, too, he figured if the owner was the guy selling the ice cream, then no wonder it's old fashioned. The guy must have been half a million years old at the least! "Thanks," he said, returning to Sam. "Eat fast Sammy, or it'll melt," he told his brother. He's already taking a bite out of the cookie dough ice cream. He's been aching to try it, considering it's fairly new, and had to admit it was good. "Wanna try some?" Dean offered.

"Sure, you outta try some of this, I think it's the best vanilla ice cream I've ever had," Sam held his out, Dean lightly catching his wrist to steady it as he took a taste, Sam doing the same.

"It is," Dean agreed with a smile, sitting on the curb in the shade of the tree, Sam joining him. "How was school?"

"Great, you saw!" Sam laughed. "I accidentally showed up the biology teacher," he said, turning dark red. Dean grinned.

"From helping me with biology a year or two ago?" Dean understood biology just fine, he just didn't have the patience to memorize any of it. He was too busy with training and memorizing monsters' weak spots. Sam had proved invaluable to Dean, helping him memorize things without Dean even realizing it –Sam had asked Dean to teach him.

"Yeah, turns out I can skip the class and do an advanced independent study, because the other classes are full, so I get a free period, or I could come home early." Not that he would, he'd take that hour to be in the library, reading or studying. Dean felt another wash of pride spread through him, and he popped the last of the waffle cone into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. Sam was right behind him in finishing his ice cream with the same gusto.

"You wanna wander around the bookstore? It's too hot to go back to the apartment," Dean said, looking at how much money he had left. Enough to get a couple books. Maybe some comics, too.

"Sure," Sam brightened instantly. He didn't want to go back to the stuffy apartment. He and Dean only ever seemed to fight at close quarters like that, but the rest of the time they got along perfectly.

"I've got a lot of money left, we could probably get a whole buncha books," Dean offered. Ice cream wasn't very much money. Dean knew from his father's stories before the days of waffle cones and cookie dough ice cream that you could get a single scoop for ten cents. Dean watched in annoyance as a man came across the street to look at the Impala. If the guy had been older, Dean wouldn't have minded. He liked to impress adults because they always had better stories and knew more. This yuppie was just a wannabe. Not to mention he'd deliberately blocked out this time for him and Sam, and he was enjoying himself. Young, probably good looking, but neither Winchester ever exactly checked out other men. Women? All the time, lord knows he barely managed to avoid being slapped on occasion. When the man got close to the car, walking around it, Dean felt threatened.

"Who's car is this?" the man asked. Dean turned to wink at Sam, deciding to make the other man uncomfortable.

"Mine," he said with a slight smile playing around his lips as he let his eyes travel over the stranger, trying to remember how some men in bars had looked at him. It didn't take too long for him to find what John called a 'liar's place' and Dean slipped into the role with ease, lightly letting his tongue run over his teeth –in all honesty Dean was looking right through him, but for all appearances the teen was checking out the attractive stranger with a lot of interest. The other man was probably about twenty one or two, under twenty five certainly.

"She's a real beauty," the man said, Dean had opened up the back seat to throw Sam's linen outer shirt over his backpack so no one would try and break into the car to take supposed valuables. All they'd find was homework, but it had happened once, and Dean was more careful since then. Still leaning in the car, he turned to look at the man with a slight wink and half smile. Dean knew how to play the game, even if he was currently trying to put the man off.

"You outta see the inside," he said, as he started organizing Sam's crap into a more manageable heap. He looked around for a lighter colored shirt to wear, the black calling the sun to cook him like no other. "God it's hot out," Dean mumbled, dragging his forearm across his forehead.

"Not as hot as you," the man grinned, lightly slapping Dean on the ass. Dean straightened up so fast he slammed his head into the roof of the car with a muffled curse.

Sam had to cover his mouth to stifle helpless laughter as Dean's plan to get rid of the man began to backfire in spades. What were the odds the one man Dean picked to hit on as a joke would actually be gay? And attracted to brunettes. The usual way Dean dealt with any undesired attention was to hit the person in the face, but quite frankly? He'd brought it on himself. Dean looked panicked, Sam could tell. So he stood up deciding to come to the rescue, forcing his face into a scowl.

"What the hell, Dean!? You're here with me!" he said, glancing disgustedly at the other man. Blondish fluffy hair, singular earring, and a light colored linen shirt with pale flowers, and khaki pants. Sam pouted, trying to remember what it felt like when Dean took him to the park to play when he was ten –only to flirt with the girls there.

The man looked startled, pausing only to touch Dean's shoulder, slipping his hand around and down Dean's back to his ass again, bringing his body in closer, leaning so his lips were brushing Dean's ear as he whispered "Maybe I'll see you around, huh, sweetcheeks?" As the man sauntered off, the mortified look on Dean's face was enough to send Sam into helpless fits of laughter. Standing up and closing the door of the Impala, Sam followed Dean down the street to the bookstore, laughing again when Dean slipped his hands into the back pockets of his jeans while he walked with his entire body rigid.

Sam just couldn't stop howling, he couldn't _wait_ to tell their father.


	2. Chapter 2

_(**Warning**: This one isn't funny. I've debated putting it up since about the time I posted the first one. Your reviews are what makes this pop up. This fic seemed fairly popular, so I figured what the hell, I'll post the second chapter. I promise you that it gets funny again, so if this wasn't your thing, lemme know and I'll skip the dark ones. Or whatever. But honest to god? They're written for pretty much my friend L and for Mish, because she's beta'd everything I've ever written, and loved it, and seems to enjoy reading it. So I thank her, dedicate it to L, and ask that you leave me some reviews. That is if you'd like to see the other three encounters I have written.) _

**Encounter Two:**

Standing outside the bar, sometimes Dad lets me come in with him to help hustle pool, sometimes he used to make me sing. Not anymore, I've managed to learn to sing like crap in the shower and everywhere else –along with the radio missing all the notes and it kills me a little inside, but Dad doesn't make me do that anymore. Thank god. I'm pretending to smoke as I lean against the wall. It gives me a reason to be there, and no one tends to bother me the way they might otherwise if I was just standing there with nothing else to do. People come outside to have a smoke and be alone. I'm too young to smoke, but in the shadows no one can tell. And if I let the stubble grow on my cheeks, with my eyes as old as they were, no one bothers me. Well, except him.

"Can I bum a cig?" he asks me.

"Yeah, sure," I mumble, pulling out the package of Camels before tapping it so one comes out, one that I pass to him.

"Got a light?" he asks, before just leaning in to light his off the end of mine. I tolerate it. He'll leave me alone once he has his fix. Although no one's ever done that to me before. Sure, I've held mine out, but usually they don't do that while it's in my mouth. Freak. Dad won't be out for another hour. Then I'll drive us back to the motel, and he'll crash. Sam's studying. I have the motel room number memorized. He'll be okay. I laid out the salt rings and everything. "Thanks," he says.

"Sure, don't mention it," I say. I don't care. I just want him to leave me alone. I slide down the brick wall, closer to the door and under the light.

"Damn, you're young!" he says, and I realize he's half drunk. "You working?"

"Huh? Yeah, I guess," I'll realize what he's talking about all too late.

"Yeah, how much?"

"For what?"

"Right, it's not exactly over the table stuff around here, is it?" he asks, moving closer to me, side by side with me, his body pressed against mine. I'm tall, I guess. I'm too young to be smoking, but my hip's even with his. He puts his hand on the brick wall at my side, I can feel it. It's between us, and that's good. "So, how much, and how old are you really? Real baby face you got there, real pretty."

"How much for what?"

"You're working, ain't you?"

"Yeah," I say again, hoping he'll take the hint and go away.

"What, you don't charge until after?" The wheels start turning in my head.

"No, not that kind of work, I don't do that kind of work, god, I'm not…" I can't say how old I am. "I'm just waiting on my…"

"Oh, someone else paying you? I get it. I can make it worth your while, he won't know."

"No, I…I don't, you don't get it," I tell him, slipping closer to the door and further away from him, his hand shoots out, grabbing my arm and wrenching me close. He's strong, I don't know if I'm stronger. Had the flu, lost a good fifteen pounds, still building up again. Don't feel so great. Part of me wants to cry and beg for my dad to come out and end this nightmare. The other part of me is pissed. I wrench my arm away. "You don't get it," I let my voice grow cold, let the hate festering inside of me pour out into my words. "I'm not doing that kind of job." I glance at my watch again. Then look at the door, hoping my father's coming. It's not time yet, and I've never been lucky. But I've always had hope. The door opens, and the man backs off, disappears even. I'm so thankful I could cry. I stub out the cigarette, the only time I inhaled was just to get it going. Stuff makes my eyes water and my lungs hurt. Sam says I'm probably allergic, because I can't go near people smoking them without almost hacking up a lung.

The guy sidles over again, don't know where he came from. He's drunk, I know he's drunk.

"I'm waiting for someone," I snap, afraid to say it's my father. We have to hide so much, I can't even tell a truth that might save me. Funny how that works.

"I'll pay you twice what he's paying, those eyelashes real? You even got freckles, that's cute," he touches my cheek, and when I tug my face away he grabs my jaw, hard. I freeze, remembering how my father grabbed my face like this, in a rage when I messed up on a hunt and almost let Sam get hurt. I can't move as his other hand goes for my belt, I'm lost in the fear and disappointment in my father's eyes. The cigarette in his hand comes closer to my face as it burns down, and I start to cough, eyes tearing up as my nose starts to run, and I'm free. The first thing I do is snap kick out, catching him in the groin.

"I'm waiting for someone," I repeat between hacking coughs, trying not to puke. I kick him again, and again. Dad comes out, pulling me away.

"What the hell, Dean!?" I turn to him, don't realize tears still run down my cheeks from the cigs. Don't realize my nose is running or that my face is red, don't realize I look scared. He's not drunk. Don't see the bruises rising up on my face where that guy grabbed me. "He hurt you son?" I shake my head, no. He knows I'm lying. He crouches down, pulling the man up by his shirt front. "You come near my son again, and I'll kill you," he says, spitting on his face. "C'mon Dean, let's go," he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I don't dare lean into it, but I want to. I think he knows, and pulls me closer, keeping me steady while we walk back to the car. Back to Sammy. Back home.


	3. Chapter 3

_(and this one's amusing again. Yay. Thanks to Mish for looking it over, as always.)_

**Encounter Three:**

Sam sat with Dean on the curb outside the bar. They weren't allowed to be near the Impala, it attracted too much attention. Sam was dozing off slowly, his head drooping down until it rested on Dean's jean-clad shoulder. Sitting alert, Dean's eyes scanned the area waiting for any threat to his baby brother or himself. John was inside the bar, Dean hoped he was getting information, not drunk. That got old, for all it didn't happen too often. Just, he was more likely to throw punches when he was drunk. Dean had just recently managed to heal from the last punch that had bruised the side of his jaw and face, causing them to have to switch schools yet again. Although, they were so rare and so often deserved that Dean didn't mind too much. Yawning, he slipped his arm around Sam, glad that it was a mild autumn night, and they were in a state with an actual friggin' autumn, instead of just summer to winter. Someone walked out, he was built like John, Dean instantly shook Sam awake, feeling his own eyes start to droop in exhaustion. Both boys moved forward to the man, "Hey Dad," Dean said, looking down at the ground, glancing at his watch as surreptitiously as possible. Bar has to be closing soon, even if it is a weekend.

"I haven't been called that in a long time," he said, glancing down at the two younger men in front of him. Well, one's just a boy really, and the other is just starting to be a man.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, I was waiting for my dad…sorry," Dean mumbled, embarrassed as his face reddened, "C'mon Sam, back to the curb," he started to guide his brother away.

"Don't worry about it, you want me to go back in there and find him for you?"

"No, no, it's fine. We're cool. We're good, huh Sammy?" Asking his brother, Sam barely nodded, his eyes closing sleepily as he leaned into Dean again. He rubbed his brother's back a little.

"Isn't he a little young for you?" the guy asked, noticing how close Sam was to Dean, and the way Sam hung onto the hem of Dean's shirt, face pressed into his shoulder. Sam's height was his real advantage in making him look older, and his shaggy hair hid how young his face was. Dean's world weary emerald eyes added about ten years to his age, along with the stubble he was so proud of.

"What?"

"Your boyfriend there," he chuckled. "Don't worry kiddo, I won't tell anyone." Dean blanched. "Lemme guess, you a Queen fan?" Sam glanced up.

"Freddie Mercury's bi," He mumbled, taking offense for Dean's sake, given his brother's speechlessness. "So, leave off. You can't sing like that, you're just jealous," he pushed his face deeper into Dean's jacket, ready to sleep. In fact, he was half asleep. He talked in his sleep all the time, and it drove Dean absolutely bonkers.

"Right, I'm jealous. Not so sure it's legal, him being so young, I'm more your type, huh?" the lascivious grin on the man's face was enough to make Dean lash out, his body launching forward, shoulder slamming into the larger man's chest.

"Leave us alone!" Dean snapped, drawing back and keeping Sam protected behind him.

"I love when they play hard to get," he laughed, not at all hurt by Dean's attack. Kid was too small and too tired to do much damage. "C'mon, didn't figure you were into the whole pain aspect though, that's just hot," he pointed out. Dean nodded, eyes flaring as his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, what can I say? I've got a thing for leather," he said, trying to buy himself enough time to think. "There's just something about the way it smells, y'know? And the feel of it on your skin," backing up slowly, Dean's mind was going a million miles a minute as he tried to come up with anything. "But y'know what I really like? Girls. Girls in short skirts, girls in lace, girls in low cut tops, I just really like girls. Long hair, short hair, don't like it when it's dyed, or when they cake on make up, but I like girls. Boobs are important, y'know?"

The man looked dubious, and stayed put as Dean grinned, shrugged, and disappeared around behind the Impala, dragging Sam with him. Sam giggled. "Boobs are important?" he asked, Dean shrugged.

"I'd like to think so," he replied, eyes dancing.

"Why does that always happen to us?"

"I'm so damn hot everyone wants a piece of me," Dean pointed out, before bursting out into a fit of laughter to match Sam's.

"You so wish."

"I so know!"

"Boys, I thought I told you not to stay near the car," John said quietly, dark eyes scanning the parking lot.

"Sorry sir," they drew themselves up, faces serious, except Dean was clearly struggling to keep in laughter.

"What's so funny. Are my orders funny to you?" he snapped, not in the mood. His source had been a pain in the ass.

"Nothing, sir," Sam said, stepping on Dean's foot, before bursting into helpless laughter.

"Sorry sir," Dean winced, "So you know what we're hunting?" he asked, before starting to giggle. John glanced at them both, and realized how tired his boys were. Realized how tired he was.

"Yeah, I know. Let's go to the motel, get some sleep, we'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Dunno Dad, think you're playing a little hard to get," Dean choked, sending his brother into another giggle fit so bad he doubled over.

"Dean stop, you're making my abs hurt," Sam gasped.

"What abs?" came the expected retort. John just rolled his eyes before Sam's indignant reply could be spoken, it being the obvious

"I have abs!" with all the injured pride of a young teen. Dean poked Sam in the stomach, which started some moronic poke war, until John stepped between the two of them. Glancing at his watch, he sighed, no wonder the boys were acting like three year olds, they were probably so exhausted they were just running on adrenaline.

"You boys get bored waiting?"

"Yeah but some weird guy came and talked to us," Sam said.

"What'd he want?"

"Dean," which started the giggling all over again.

"Oh?" John asked, glancing at Dean, currently about half passed out in the seat next to him.

"Yeah, he was into leather," Dean mumbled, snuggling up against the door, cheek pressed against the leather, hair matted by the window.

John raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? You like him?"

"Not really, smelled funny."

"Dean says boobs are important, y'know?" Sam piped up, before yawning. John chuckled.

"I suppose so." Given the alternatives. He looked over at his boy, he looked so much like his mother. Sometimes, like this one, it was more a curse than a blessing. His eyelashes were long enough to cast shadows on his cheeks in the occasional light of the street lamps. "Well, maybe he thought you were a girl from far away," John offered to either Dean or Sam, whichever boy was still awake.

"Needs new glasses, then," Dean mumbled, shifting and hiking one shoulder up before lowering it and pushing his body closer to the door, fighting the seatbelt. "if people keep saying we're gay, Sammy'll start believing it," he added with a slight grin.

"Will not!" Sam snapped, sitting up in indignation to lean forward to hit his brother's shoulder. "Jerk!"

"Little bitch," Dean replied, twisting around to take a swing at Sam before John grabbed him and forced him back against his seat.

"Enough."

"'Sides, the guy wanted you, not me," the younger boy added. "He likes it when you play hard to get, but from what I understand, you're pretty easy." John figured it was moments like these that kept him from killing his boys when they pissed him off, they were well worth the torment for the entertainment value they provided.


	4. Chapter 4

_(I think this one is slightly more serious than the last one. Dedicated as always to L, and special thanks as always to Merisha, the best beta a girl could have.)_

**Encounter Four: **

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"That's a really ugly woman!"

"Shhh! Sam! That's not a woman!"

"Then what is it!?" When the drag queen's eyes flicked over to them Dean winced.

"First of all, _he_ is a man, and he dresses like that because…!" Not something he wanted to try and explain to his seven year old brother.

"I don't like the way he's looking at us."

"Well he wasn't looking at us until you had to go and open your big stupid mouth!" Dean hissed. He had a pretty bad sunburn, and sitting outside of yet another lame ass bar while their father did his thing did not improve the fact every inch of him hurt and felt raw, or the fact that he was tired, hungry, and still felt like he was in the pool. When he let his eyes close, he could feel the gentle rocking motion of it, hear the other kids laughing, splashing around while he taught Sam how to swim. It was so rare they ever ended up in a motel with a pool Dean usually had to re-teach both himself and his sibling. And now he had a sunburn for his troubles, for all he'd managed to slather Sammy in plenty of sunscreen, he'd forgotten about himself in light of Sam's impatience to just _go_ already. Then again, Dean was feeling that same impatience. Not that he could voice it in front of Sam, or his dad. Either way he'd seriously screw up what faith his family had in him. When the queen looked their way again, taking a long drag on the cig he was holding, Dean noticed Sam watching.

Putting himself between man and boy, Dean held out his hands palm up. "C'mon," he told Sam, a slight challenge in his voice. He'd worked out how many times he could win, and how many times he had to lose to keep Sammy from being upset and pouting, along with losing his enjoyment of the game. Considering it was actually good for reflexes it was a game John encouraged. Dean just wished Sam had a little more self control, so when Dean held his hands in place, Sam wouldn't whack the hell out of them every time. It hurt after a while, and then the skin on his hands were all red and his hands stiffened up. "Missed Sammy."

"Almost got you."

"Whatever," Dean rolled his eyes. The first couple rounds he had to win, to get Sam into the game and wanting to win, then he had to lose more often than he won. Which sucked ass, considering his body's reflexes were so much better, mostly because he was older, but he also trained more.

"Deaaaan, he's staring at us again."

"Sam, shut up!" he snapped again, unable to risk them drawing more attention than two boys outside a bar ever did. 'Dad, c'mon' Dean thought, then glanced at Sam. "Want to try rock paper scissors?"

"No, I can beat you at this game!" the defiance in those eyes coupled by the curly mop of brown hair made Dean want to laugh. Instead, he just nodded seriously, tightening his lips into a flat line.

"So then pay attention!" Dean snapped. He would have rather had Sam's back to the man, but then it would leave Sam's back exposed. Dean's could be exposed without problem, and like he figured, his reflexes were better, and he'd hear anyone walking up on them. Except their dad. John always managed to walk up behind him and scare the hell out of him. But usually they laughed about it. He lightly tapped Sam's hands, and his brother growled in frustration. His eyes flicking up to watch the Drag Queen before Dean really slapped his hands.

"Ow, Dean, you meanie!"

"Pay attention! You want to get killed some day? Focus a little!" Dean was scared. He was good at the training their dad taught them, but he'd still be helpless against a fully grown man. Especially one he didn't really want to fight. And Sam's staring was not helping them out. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end when footsteps clicked towards them. High heels, but too heavy for a woman. Oh god.

"You got a problem?" the guy asked, smelling of stale beer and cigarettes.

"No, I'm sorry, my brother, he just…he doesn't understand. I'm sorry, we're sorry, he's not, it's, he's just a kid, he doesn't know any better," Dean whispered, his eyes wide. Sam looked at his brother, taking in Dean's fear, not realizing half of it was all put on for show. The other half was genuine, though. Tears welled up in Sam's eyes. "See, Sammy tell him you're sorry, okay?"

Sam nodded his head, eyes streaming. "Sorry," he choked out, one hand reaching out for his brother's. It'd been a long time since they'd held hands outside of Dean dragging him anywhere. Like across the street. The queen looked disconcerted, especially when a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"Boys?"

"My fault, we said we were sorry," Dean added, refusing to say what happened. John glanced down at Sam, who was nearly crying. He'd explain it all later, because clearly Dean wasn't telling the truth. He was such a shitty liar. John wasn't sure how he was going to fix that.

"Alright," John shrugged as he released the man. "C'mon boys," he said, holding out his hand for Sam's, and letting Dean walk on his own. The motel was within walking distance, Sam had just thrown a temper tantrum about being left behind and how he wasn't sleepy and didn't want to stay in a motel with no air conditioning because it was hot. Dean hadn't seemed to care, then again he never did, just did whatever his father wanted. Whatever was best for his brother. John sighed, reaching out for Dean's hand as well. Feeling his boys' hands in his own, John smiled a little. Things'd be alright, they would.

Back at the motel, he noticed how burned his son's face was, and figured that it was entirely possible that more than his face was cherry red.

"Looks like I brought a lobster back with me," he muttered, then glanced at Sam. "Where'd I leave your brother? Some jerk tricked me and now I've got a crustacean." He knew Sam would get a kick out of the word 'crustacean' because it was one of his new vocabulary words.

Giggling, "No, it's Dean! We went out to the pool, but he didn't put sun block on." John saw Dean open his mouth to protest, defend himself, then saw it shut.

"Why didn't you put sun block on, Dean? You know better."

"I forgot."

John knuckled his forehead. "How about we go about this with the truth, huh?"

"Sam wanted to go swimming, and there wasn't time, I didn't want him to have to wait." Translation: Sam was being a pain in the ass, and I didn't have the patience to deal with it.

"So, now, what the hell happened in the parking lot, Sammy?"

"There was that weird guy there, you saw! I wanted to know why there was such an ugly woman, and Dean said that he was a man!" This time rubbing at his temples, John debated downing half a bottle of Tylenol to deal with the splitting headache he was getting. Other than the whole idea of that conversation, and Dean's probable reluctance to explain anything. He grinned.

"So, Sam. Your brother was right."

"Dean's always right," the little boy huffed.

"It's 'cause I'm older," Dean pointed out with a half grin.

"But Dean wouldn't say why."

"Well, Dean doesn't have to."

"Uh, Dean's right here," he said, raising up his hand. John just looked at him, and the hand dropped.

"But why would a guy dress like that? It's weird!"

"Dean, you wanna take this one?"

"What?!"

John chuckled. "Sam, people are just crazy, okay?" Sam nodded seriously. "They're never gonna make sense. And so that's just another person who doesn't make sense to you. God knows Dean almost never makes sense, does he?" Sam shook his head with a laugh.

He glanced over at his boy, and realized that his son was asleep, knees curled up to his chest. "Sam, you go to bed, okay? Brush your teeth, and be quiet. Practice being stealthy for me, okay?"

"What about Dean?"

"I'll handle Dean. Isn't tonight bath night? You go ahead. You don't need help, do you?"

"No way, and I'm old enough to take a shower, not a bath!"

"Alright," John chuckled, watching Sam grab his pajamas and disappear into the bathroom before he lifted Dean onto his lap. "You're getting too big for this kiddo," John muttered, slowly working Dean's shirt off to reveal bright red skin. Whistling softly in surprise, it probably hurt like a bitch. He riffled through his bag after setting Dean down again. No aloe. No lotion, even. There was a convenience store…Dean would wake up if he took the Impala, was it close enough to run? Had to be.

John got back while Sam was still in the shower. He played around, and John didn't give a damn if he wasn't paying a water bill. Smearing the aloe on Dean's skin, he was careful to let it get a little warm on his fingertips before letting it touch his son, otherwise he'd be awake in a flash. The boy's back was burned, too, but there wasn't all that much John could do about it without waking him up, and making him stay up until the stuff dried on his skin. "Sorry kiddo," John whispered to him, making a note not to leave his boys alone quite so often.

_(reviews please? assuming you guys want to see more. the next one is more humourous again, I believe.) _


	5. Chapter 5

_(Pure silliness. Thanks to Mish as always. Dedicated to L. And as always, reviews to continue. Sorry this took so long to update, I've been self absorbed with packing.) _

**Encounter Five: **

The young cashier looked up in surprise when two young men came in. One taller than the other. The shorter had a fisted grip into the hem of the lankier one's shirt, either being led, or the remnants at a failed attempt to hold the other back –and perhaps had conceded to be dragged along for the ride. They were both startlingly cute. She smiled a little warmer than she had for the previous customer, until she noticed how close they were, and the hissed conversation they were having, faces only inches apart. They looked like they were arguing, from the set of the shorter one's eyebrows, and the pout on the mouth of the taller. Why the hell did only gay couples come into her stupid diner? Every time she thought she saw a cute guy, and they were both ripped, too, she could tell. Wearing a plaid over shirt, unbuttoned, the tight black undershirt didn't exactly hide much. Then the taller one wore a white polo that accented the broadness of his shoulders and chest. Damn. Either one of them was quite the catch, but the shorter definitely played up that bad boy aura. He must be the butch one.

"How can I help you?" she asked, smile plastered on. She felt her knees wobble when he turned a dazzling smile on her, seeming almost flirtatious.

"We just need a place to sit and some grub, not too hard, huh?" he asked, brows contracted in concern. "You alright?"

"Yeah, sorry, been a long shift, we were busy about an hour ago. There's a booth empty, if that's okay?"

"Sure, Sam here's big enough to need the room," the under his breath he added "friggin' sasquatch." She settled them at the booth by a window, almost laughing when they both closed their eyes, leaning into the sun streaming down over the table. "You're so gonna burn," Dean told his brother with a laugh.

"Whatever, you're the one who burned at the pool a couple years ago."

"So what?" Then he looked up, green eyes meeting hers. "I'm thinking one coffee, and then the…if you have like latte's for this guy over here, he drinks sissy coffee."

"Dean, I do not! It's not a sin to like a half caff vanilla lattes!"

"Sure it ain't, Francis." Noticing her still standing there, he quirked his lips slightly. "And I'd love to see the menu," he added. She flushed, and handed them out to the two men quickly.  
"Sorry."

"No worries," he chuckled, and she could almost swear he was checking her out. Which she found she wouldn't actually mind.

"Damn she's hot. Did you see those legs? How long you think we're gonna be around? More than a couple hours, right? I mean, if her shift was long, it should be over soon, and then she won't be busy, right?"

"Dean, I can't believe that's what you're thinking about right now. Dad's going to kill you."

"Hey, what he doesn't know can't hurt him. And you're sure as hell not going to be ratting me out, are you Sammy?"

"First of all, it's Sam. Second of all, I am not taking the blame for anything just so you can jack off with some girl."

"Why the hell not?" Dean demanded in irritation.

"Because I'm not getting into trouble with Dad! You're always telling me that I'm butting heads with him too often over nothing, and now you're telling me to butt heads with him! You're…such a pain in the ass!"

"Thanks," Dean glanced at the waitress when she came back over with a half grin on his face. "I'd like the special, and he'd like the short stack, extra syrup, and scrambled eggs with nothing on 'em, right?" he raised an eyebrow at Sam. "And if it comes with bacon or sausages, he'd rather have sausages."

"I'll bet," the waitress commented, slightly disappointed. Dean blinked funny, before staring at her a little.

"Excuse me?"

"One special, short stack with scrambled eggs, plain, and sausages. Got it, you guys ready for more coffee?"

"Only if you're pouring it, sweetheart."

"I'll bring some right over," and he winked at her.

"You're disgusting, you know that? And what was that about sausages?"

"Dunno, maybe she thinks you're a flamer," Dean laughed. Sam made a face, rolling his eyes in irritation before sticking his tongue out. Then taking a cautious sip of coffee.

"Why do you always do that, Dean? Seriously, it's not funny, and then people really do think we're gay. And it's not cool. Do you hear me? Not cool at all!" he insisted, doing his best to ignore Dean's smug look.

"I'm just telling you Sammy, it's the flannel plaid look with that hair. You know what that says? 'Ooooh I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay….'" he joked.

"I don't think it's funny, Dean."

"That's because you don't have a sense of humor."

"I do, too, you're just an ass!" Dean just smiled and then glanced up when the waitress returned with their food and a coffee pot.

"Lemme freshen you up there," she said.

"Any time you want," he smiled.

As soon as the girl was gone, Sam sighed. "Dude, you just got laid last week, what the hell is your problem?!"

"Not all of us are self flatuating bastards, Sammy."

"It's flagellation, Dean," Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Only Dean could butcher the English language like that. Only Dean. How he did it was still a mystery to Sam, because he supposedly spoke fluent English. Maybe it was just special to his brother. Although, his father had managed to make up some spectacular words over the years. Dean had privately confided to Sam that sometimes their father sounded like Yosemite Sam when he got angry, just not so small and impotent. Nothing would ever make John Winchester powerless. And Sam, despite what he might say, was so grateful that nothing could. Because when that happened, Sam was convinced the world would end.

"So as I was saying, not all of us are self flagellating bastards, and sometimes we like to have fun. I also don't plan on being celibate um, ever, unlike you, because I'm a real man."

"Just because I don't have to have sex to prove my manhood doesn't mean that I'm planning on staying celibate. It's really not my fault everyone thinks you're gay, so you go around banging every girl you see just to prove them wrong. In fact," Sam paused carefully, smiling at Dean's face had steadily darkened. "I'm starting to think you've got a complex, or that you're trying really hard to compensate for something." Grinning a little, "Dude, is there something you need to tell me?" His brother looked flat out murderous. Then, his face blanked.

"Don't ask, don't tell, Sammy," he said nonchalantly and settled back in the booth. Clearly Sam had pushed his buttons. The waitress had come back with silverware, considering neither man had started eating, too caught up in ribbing each other.

She looked right at Sam, "There's no way you guys aren't gay!" she burst out, before she clapped a hand over her mouth. Thrusting the forks and knives at them, she spun around and hid in the kitchen.

Dean's mouth was open, mirroring Sam's. "Well, damn."

"Hurry up and eat so we can leave."

"Can we not give her a tip?"

"Don't think it's required, just polite. Although we could take the moral high ground."

"Or maybe I could just leave my number, you think she'd call?"

"No, no I don't."


End file.
